The Unsung Hero
by MissEclipse
Summary: Flashback to Vietnam era. "So many men. You teach yourself to forget their faces." But I would never forget the young, sandy-haired medic, who saved my life in the jungles of Vietnam.
1. Chapter 1

[ _Disclaimer: I do not own BA Baracus or Captain Fallone. Extracts from "The Island" episode appeared in Season 3, Episode 8. This story is based on actual true events, so isn't all my own work._ ]

 **Chapter 1: God's Waiting Room**

[ _Timeline: La Drang Valley – 1969. I am thinking this would have occurred before BA joined the A-Team._ ]

I didn't even flinch when I heard the incoming shell whistle through the air. After three days of constant bombardment, I could tell from the sound that it was a good 75 feet off.

The long elephant grass that covered the hills by the Cambodian border was a smugglers' paradise and infiltration point for the NVA to invade South Vietnam. The mission had been to hunt down the enemy and keep the border clear. But it had been a ferocious, hand-to-hand battle – and it wasn't over yet.

It was noon and my platoon was resting briefly. We were waiting for the Recon team, who were scouting ahead, to return. The lucky ones amongst us lay injured on the ground, their wounds covered with filthy, make-shift bandages, puffing robotically on cigarettes. The not so lucky ones were lying in a coma with plasma bottles hanging above their stretchers. Such was the onslaught of the fighting, we had been unable to get the wounded out of the battle zone. The medics had used up all their medical supplies before the first day had ended.

We were all totally shell-shocked. We said very little, but our eyes darted nervously around the woods. We were the colour of the dirt and our clothes were torn where the shrapnel and bullets had come dangerously close. Although I had minor injuries, miraculously, I had somehow avoided being shot. But I knew it wouldn't be long before it was my turn and that thought messed with my head. I felt like I was in God's Waiting Room, passing time until my number came up.

I collapsed on the ground where I had stopped. As I didn't smoke, I fiddled with my customary axe, carving out notches on a nearby tree stump. We would use the axes to cut down the long grass and clear landing zones for the helicopters to land.

After about ten minutes or so the Recon team returned. They reported to the XO that we were only 30 yards away from the designated Landing Zone. There we would be picked up by the helicopters. I was surprised when I heard myself mutter a rather hysterical " _thank God!_ " at this news.

But then the Cong made a charge and a new kind of hell let loose. I swear about 100 of them jumped out from behind every anthill, instantly taking out our first line of defence. Bullets were flying everywhere and my fear factor escalated a hundred-fold. A bullet hit the dirt a foot to my side and others started whizzing over my head.

I heard my XO yelling, " _Follow me, and let's get the hell out of here!_ ".

Anyone who could walk quickly followed in his footsteps. Having to leave my wounded comrades behind was probably one of the hardest things I ever had to do, but we had no choice. We were hopelessly outnumbered. We threw them our spare food rations and water and gave grenades and rifles to those who could still use them.

We ran, blindly, through the woods. With our escape route back to the LZ blocked, we ended up running deeper into the bush. Suddenly, additional shots were firing all around us. I realised that NVA snipers, tied up in the treetops, had opened up with automatic weapons.

Within a few seconds men started to fall like dominoes. The XO was one of the first to get hit. The bullet went straight through his heart. As I knelt down beside him he started to shudder and gurgle. Mercifully he died quickly. I held his hand tightly. It was the first time I had seen one of my buddies die up close. He had made it through World War II and Korea, but this little war had got him.

I felt a rush of panic grip me. I had assumed that he was going to get me out of here. For one selfish moment, I realised I was on my own. Everyone around me was screaming. The shooting was now a continuous roar. We were even being fired at by our own guys. No one knew where the gun shots was coming from, and so the men were firing everywhere. Some were in shock and were blazing away at everything they saw - or imagined they saw.

Then the grass in front of me began to fall as if a lawnmower were passing. It was a machine gun, and I could see the vague outline of the Cong's head behind the foot or so of elephant grass. As if in a dream I picked up my rifle, put it on automatic and pulled the trigger. I saw his face disappear. I guess I blew his head off, but I never hung around to find out.

I had decided it was time to move out. Most of the guys were trying to make their way towards our mortar platoon, which was situated somewhere to the north of our current position. I dumped my gear and axe, so I could get as close to the ground as possible. I didn't want to get hit by the bullets that were ricocheting of the trees. I had also lost my rifle, but that wasn't so much of a problem. There were abandoned weapons of all kinds lying everywhere.

I had nearly made it to the mortar platoon, when I heard a babble of Vietnamese voices nearby. The sound of the enemy that close was the most frightening thing I have ever experienced. Combat creates a mindless fear, but this brought me out in a cold sweat.

As they came into the clearing I froze to the spot and pretended to be dead. I was covered in other people's blood as well as my own, so I guess they thought I had been killed. I wasn't about to stand up and tell them otherwise! One of their Gunners proceeded to use the body of a dead GI as a sandbag for his machine gun.

The Gunner was only a teenager. From my position on the ground, lying on my stomach with my head turned slightly towards him, I could see him trembling in his boots. He began firing into the remnants of my Company. My buddies began firing back with rifle grenades. Jeez, if I stood up, the Cong would kill me and if I stayed lying down, my buddies would get me.

Then a volley of allied grenades exploded all around us, killing the enemy boy and wiping out his buddies as they got up to run. I felt as if a red-hot sledge hammer had hit the right side of my face. I lost consciousness for a few seconds. I came out of it feeling intense pain in my head. I didn't dare feel my face. I thought the whole side of it had gone. Blood was pouring down my forehead. It was also pouring out of my mouth. I slapped a bandage on the side of my face and tied it around my head. I suddenly felt better. It had happened, and I was still alive.

But my sense of calmness didn't last long as the Cong started to mortar us. There was a deafening roar and I knew something big had gone off right behind me. At the same time I felt something shoot into my right thigh. I immediately started to scream in immense pain. I ripped the bandage off my face and tied it around my thigh. It didn't fit, so I held it as tight as I could with my fingers. I could feel the blood pouring out of the hole. The realization came to me now, for the first time, that I was not going to live.

I prayed to God to give me the strength to get through this alive and cried unashamedly for my mama.

[ _To be continued ..._ ]


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Heaven sent**

Somehow I managed to drag myself through the grass and got closer to the mortar platoon. Despite my semi-conscious stupor, the reality of my nightmare was just beginning to hit home. Most of my Platoon just didn't exist anymore. Many had been ripped to pieces by artillery ammunition or executed by the Cong as they lay dying in the long grass. You could hear the little yellow men creeping through the woods, babbling and arguing amongst themselves. They sounded like evil children. They would call to each other when they found a live GI. Then they would kill him.

A few other guys had also made it to the mortar platoon. We were all in bad shape. One of my buddies had been hit in the stomach and was in great pain. He was screaming for a medic and when one didn't arrive, he pleaded with us to put him out of his misery.

But no-one had any medical supplies. No-one could move for fear of being shot at by the snipers and no-one would shoot him. It took him three hours to die. Several GIs shot themselves that day, rather than let themselves be captured alive by the Gooks. I had lost nearly all the friends I had in the world in the space of a few days.

I heard our big guns booming in the distance. It was only a protective fire, but it was enough to keep Charlie on the run. The mortar platoon had run out of ammunition and we would have been sitting ducks had the Cong stumbled upon us.

I lay there, in the baking sun, for the rest of the afternoon. I felt like a piece of raw meat that had been left to fester away on the ground. 'Nam was nothing but one big anthill and those little buggers had almost eaten me alive. I found a canteen of water nearby. The guy who it had belonged to must have been hit in the face, because the water was one-third blood. But I didn't mind. I passed it around.

A few helicopters tried landing in the LZ, about half a mile away. But whenever one came within 100 feet of the ground, so many machine guns would open up on him that it sounded like a training company at a machine gun range.

Then a couple of our Skyraiders flew over, dropping a load of antipersonnel charges somewhere not too far from where I lay. I watched, almost in a hypnotic state, as they fell from the sky, shimmering in the sun like green confetti. As they fell to the ground the little pieces exploded. I couldn't see the Gooks, but I could hear them screaming as they burned. A hundred men dead, just like that.

A few seconds later a patrol of GIs came into view, about 15 guys in a line. They were looking for wounded. Everyone started pawing towards them. It turned me into a babbling idiot. I grabbed one of the guys and wouldn't let go. They had four stretchers with them, and they took out the four worst wounded and all those who could walk. I was desperate to get out of there and I told the leader I could walk. But when the medic helped me to my feet, I passed out cold.

When I regained consciousness, they had gone. Word had been left that his patrol would be back in a few hours. I clung to this hope, but you didn't have to be a rocket scientist to work out they weren't coming back. I still had my hand grenade intact. I thought to myself that if Charlie found me, I wasn't going to let him kill me. I was sure I was going to die one way or another, but I really did not care anymore.

As I drifted back into a restless sleep, I hadn't realised that one medic had stayed behind.

When I woke up it was almost dusk. I realised that my boots had been cut from my feet and that I was covered in a blanket. Bandages had been applied to my wounds and a good bit of the blood and grime had been scraped from my face. There was some sort of tube sticking out of my arm. A pair of gentle hands lifted my head and gave me some fresh water to drink.

After I had gulped down the cool, refreshing water, I looked up to find a young, sandy-haired medic grinning broadly at me. His eyes twinkled with a cheeky glint and were full of life and gusto. I tried to speak, but my voice cracked up before I got passed the first word. He patted me reassuringly on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, Soldier," he said in a quiet, confident voice. "We'll soon get you out of here. Battalion HQ have got these co-ordinates locked down."

And then he was gone. For the first time in three days, I felt a ray of hope overwhelm me. I saw him flitting around in the growing shadows of the falling darkness. He worked relentlessly through the night, administering pain relief and checking our wounds. He bravely dodged the stray sniper bullets, which somehow still managed to find their way through the long grass. I was aware that he came to check on me at routine intervals.

Darkness soon devoured us. Now and then the flares would light up the skyline, giving some comfort. As long as there was some light, the Cong wouldn't try an all-out attack.

After probably the longest night of my life, the sky began to turn red and orange. There was complete silence everywhere now. Not even the birds started their usual singing. As the sun was coming up, everyone expected a human-wave charge by the NVA, and then a total massacre. We didn't know that the few Cong left from the battle had pulled out just before dawn.

Then I heard the grass swishing and the sounds of low whistling noises met my ears. Suddenly I saw them, as the 1st Sergeant, the Captain and two radio operators came into view. The Captain soon got round to where I was lying and asked me how I was. Trying to sound extra cool, I came out with the only thing I could think off.

" _Sorry Sir, I lost my axe_!" I croaked back.

" _Don't worry, Baracus_ ," he replied. " _We'll get you another one_."

As I was carried out on a stretcher, the carnage hit me. Hundreds of dead GIs and Cong littered the path back to the LZ. Sprinkled amongst them were the wounded. I also noticed that although most of the enemy snipers had been blown right out of the trees, some of those dudes were still just hanging there in a deathly silence.

I looked round for the medic who had risked his own life to save mine. But he seemed to have disappeared back to whatever God had sent him to us. I only wished I'd had the chance to thank him.

It was only later, whilst recovering in the field hospital, that I learnt his name was Lieutenant Fallone. His name would crop up many times during my Tour in the Country. It didn't surprise me when I heard he had been promoted to Captain. He turned out to be the best God-damn medic in 'Nam, even though his bravery and courage went largely unrecognised. Perhaps one day I'd find a way to repay him.

There is no doubt in my mind that he saved my life and the lives of my buddies, as we lay there dying on the ground of La Drang Valley.

[ _Short epilogue to follow._ ]


	3. Chapter 3

**Epilogue**

[ _Timeline: Los Angeles – 1994_ ]

15 years later I did get a chance to thank Captain Fallone. One of our missions took us to a small fishing Island, where Fallone had retired to after the Vietnam war. We rescued him and his fellow Islanders from being overrun by a bunch of sleazeballs.

He had been shot bad and as he lay on the stretcher, I asked him if he remembered me from the jungles of Vietnam. To this day I will always remember his reply.

" _So many men. You teach yourself to forget their faces._ "

His words sent a chill down my spine as the memories of that day in La Drang Valley suddenly came back to haunt me. An experience like that leaves scars. For years afterwards I was sour on life. It turned me angry, cynical and alienated from society. They may have healed the injuries to my leg and face, but no-one could tell me when the nightmares would stop. And of course being a fugitive on the run didn't help. Even now, as a free man, 'Nam would never be far from my thoughts. It still left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Then one morning, out of the blue, an envelope was sent to me by a young man called Mickey. He had come to look upon Fallone as a father figure during the trouble on their Island. I opened it and took out a small, clear plastic packet. Inside was the gold cross and chain I had put round Fallone's neck when we had rescued him on the Island.

I suddenly felt a pang of gut-wrenching apprehension. The accompanying letter was short and to the point. Fallone had died after suffering a massive stroke. His last request had been that Micky return the chain to me as _"he didn't need it where he was going!"_

I laughed at the light-hearted humour in his words, but my eyes filled with tears. For a moment I was transported back to the horror and desperation of that hostile conflict. For me and many veterans, it had been a war that was fought without any real conclusion. Politics had got in the way and the American people had turned against the GIs, who were valiantly trying to make sense of what was happening amongst all the confusion.

We did finally get our parades and our memorial on the Mall in Washington. But I wanted to do something to mark my respect to all those unsung heroes, who had died serving for their country. There were so many who deserved that respect.

There were the young men who stood in the doorways of the Hueys, gallantly protecting our backs as we emerged from the treeline under constant unfriendly fire.

There were the skilled pilots, who pulled as out of a hot LZ more times than I cared to remember.

There were the courageous platoon leaders who would lead us to safety, literally fighting until they had lost their last breath, rather than surrender to Charlie.

And there were the brave medics, who went into combat armed only with a pistol for protection and their first aid kits which would save thousands of lives.

So when an opportunity arose, a few weeks later, to return to Vietnam, I jumped at the chance. I still had the A-Team, who had become my lifelong family, but this was one journey I had to do without them.

Together with other La Drang veterans, I travelled back to the jungle in the Central Highlands. I remembered a handful of them from my Platoon. Lt Dave Sheldon had been shot in the kneecap and ankle. His permanent limp would serve as a reminder of his time in the valley of death. Sgt Harry Delaney had both his legs blown off, but being wheelchair bound hadn't stopped him from continuing with his life and making the journey back to 'Nam.

Seeing Corporal Angus Scott was a reminder of one of the wounded we had left behind when the ambush had first began. He had been unable to walk but he could still operate his M-16. He had protected himself and the other wounded that were left behind, from being executed by the Cong. His reward had been the loss of several fingers, but his guts and determination had saved all their lives.

For several days I walked the battlefield. What struck me was the overwhelming peacefulness of the place, even in the clearing where I thought I was going to die. I broke down several times. I wanted to bring back some shell casings - some physical manifestation of the battle - to lay at the foot of The Wall in Washington.

But I was unable to find any remnants of the war. The forces of nature had simply erased it. Where once the grass had been slippery with blood, flowers now bloomed in their glory. Flowers - that's all that I could find in that jungle clearing that once held terror and now held beauty. So I pressed some and brought them back to LA with me. I would later visit Fallone's grave and lay them there.

The land was at peace and possibly for the first time, Vietnam has become a place again, not just a devastating battle ground. I finally begun to let go and now I have a great pride in the service I gave to my country.

But I would never forget the day I escaped death in the tall grass of the La Drang Valley or the young medic who risked his life to save my skin.

 **Fini**

[ _AN: I cannot take any credit for the contents of this story. They are based on true extracts of a soldier's plight in Vietnam. I found the extracts very moving and used poetic licence to turn it into BA's story. It was really just an opportunity to share this remarkable story with others._ ]


End file.
